Olive Branch
by PrettyLiterallyNelle
Summary: Sweeney had been searching for his olive branch, and finally, he thinks he may have found it in the most unlikely of places...
1. Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**Hello my fellow Sweeney Todd fans! I've come to you with my first ever Sweeney Todd fanfiction! Please feel free to leave comments and criticisms, I'm a serious young writer here! A few thing before we continue though, this story is quite AU. Mr. Todd kills two people only, but not by his own hands, it's by the towns decision. Mrs. Lovett never loved Benjamin Barker, but of course who's to say she can't love Sweeney Todd... And lastly, Mrs. Lovett tells the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Of course throughout the story there is other small things that I have changed and my own OC's I've added, but nothing too big to acknowledge right here. Wouldn't want to spoil this story now would we?**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sweeney Todd, if I did, this would be the story instead...**

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**Chapter One: Boulevard of Broken Dreams **

**'Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium' **would not have been Sweeney's first choice of places to visit upon returning to London, had it not been for the blatant fact he'd left his wife and child there 15 years ago. It was almost as horrible as he'd remembered it. The cobblestone streets were dingy and pungent, filled with the disgusting commoners anywhere from beggars to pickpockets, each scrounging for a scrap of money. He'd of course avoided them at all cost, shoved through those who'd presented worthless trinkets into his face asking for a couple pence. While he hadn't mocked their misfortune, he'd gladly ignored their presence, continuing on to his destination.

_Wham! Wham! Wham! _

He could hear the racket from outside of the door to the pie shop. Though he could see no customers sitting in the rickety booths through the window, he could hear a repetitious bang of something on a hard surface. Obviously, someone was home. Swallowing, Sweeney opened the door and made his way into the rundown shop. The door closed softly behind him as he glanced up at the woman behind the counter. He supposed that this was Mrs. Lovett.

When he opened the door to the chophouse it was even shoddier than the outside. It was dark and dank, the only light source coming from the pale sunlight through the curtained windows. The curtains themselves had been worn and moth-eaten. The tables seemed clean though and the floors seemed as if they'd been swept prior to his arrival, but when he looked harder at the planks that strained beneath his weight, he thought he saw a cockroach scuttle across the floor. _'Revolting…'_

Sweeney looked to who he assumed was Mrs. Lovett behind the counter.

The woman looked about as old as her establishment. She was pale, her lacey dark grey dress contrasted with the clammy colour of her skin, flour stains not only on her dress but her exposed shoulders made her seem paler. Her hair, a wine red colour, sat in a tangled mess atop her head. Even from her bent position over the dough she seemed to be chopping viciously with a butcher's knife, he could see the deep, ghastly purplish circles that graced her eyelids. But this was Mrs. Lovett.

He decided that he probably could back up, open the door and flee like the madman he was. That way he wouldn't have to face her and the horrors that seemed to haunt this place. He remembered Mrs. Lovett as cheery, energetic, and lively if you will, but he supposed that just as the rest of London she'd been drained of the life she once possessed as well. And what was left of her stood before him, a shell of what once was.

The annoying chopping had stopped and as he looked up, he realized the woman had finally come to acknowledge his looming presence at her door. She gasped.

"Huh, a customa'!" She rushed over to where he now stood, backing up purposefully. "Wait! What's yer rush! What's yer 'urry!?"

He looked at her in an odd fashion, his brow creasing with the utterance of the strange creature before him. By the desperate tone in this woman's voice Sweeney could instantly tell she received few frequenters of her restaurant. He grimaced as she pushed him forcefully down onto the bench behind him. This woman, who seemed like she could probably blow away with a single gust of wind, had strength.

"Ya gave me such a fright! Though' ya were a ghost, I did!" She seemed to be chattering to him though he'd tuned her out after her odd greeting.

She made her way back to the counter and had turned, bent over, and opened up the oven behind her. When she had come back toward him she had a plate with what he guessed was a pie atop it. The sunken object looked quite revolting.

"Please 'scuse me, dearie, if me 'eads a little vague." She squinted strangely at the food before sliding it to him over the table. Unusually enough, Sweeney found himself eyeing the meal in consideration. The crust was blatantly moldy, tinged a sickly green color. And the smell emanating from it was just as equally horrid as its appearance. He picked it up and took a bite form it. Nearly vomiting on the table before him, Sweeney instead turned and spat it over his shoulder when the lady's back was turned.

"Pro'bly the worst pies in London these are, love. I should know. I make 'em. But good? No." She had gone to rolling the dough with a pin, studied it as if she was talking to the inanimate object rather than him. "Ah, well," she said all breathy-like, "times is 'ard, sir."

"If times are so hard, why don't you rent out that room above your shop?" He looked at her pointedly, and he thought he saw her tense quickly before she smiled sadly. Sweeney persisted to watch her.

"People seem to fink it's 'aunted." He smirked on the inside; by the way this place looked to the average passerby he wouldn't doubt that for a second. "Somethin' 'appened up there. Somethin' not so nice."

He rolled his tongue around in his mouth. The woman before him chuckled and motioned for him to follow her. For some reason utterly against his will he did. She had led him into her parlor, the peeling yellow striped wallpaper less inviting than her shop. He scowled at the even darker room, before a sizzling was heard, and a light bathed the small living courters. The room consisted of a couch, chair, and table, all of the pieces equally ratty in their own way. There was a shelf that housed nearly a hundred books to the forefront of the room and beside that a baby grand piano. Despite its dreary state the place still seemed homey, the small arrangement of gillyflowers and daisies on the coffee table, lace coverings on the back of the couch and chair, and the ambrosial candle burning atop the shelf added seemed to be her attempt to make the place welcoming.

He hadn't noticed that the elfin baker had left before she'd returned with a bottle of gin and two glasses. She handed him one before pouring him a hefty serving. Something told him by the look on the woman's face he was going to need it. She then continued to pour herself some before sitting in the chair, nodding toward the couch for him to have a seat.

"'Ave a seat why don' ya, love?" She sighed and he regarded her with a blank look, though his eyes pressed to hear her tale.

"There was a barber an' 'is wife. She 'as beautiful. 'E was a proper artist wit' a knife. But, they'd transported 'im for life." Mrs. Lovett had seemed genuinely saddened by her reciting of the legend; the lacing of dread in her somber, mellifluous voice was not missed by him.

"What was his crime," he found himself bellowing after a sip of the gin. It really did nothing to take the abhorrent taste of spoiled food out of his mouth.

"Foolishness." She stated clearly, annoyance edging her tone.

"But wit' Judge Turpin's reputation, whot do you 'spect?"

Sweeney looked at her emotionless; his eyes expressed the curiosity his visage did not. He nodded to her once and she seemed to take that as a signal to continue.

"The Judge, Turpin that is, 'ad seen th'beauty of the barber's wife. And o'course, like everything else he wanted, he got it. 'Bout a year after the barber was taken away, he'd come serenading her. Brought er' flowers by the dozen. Not once did she come down from her tower. She stayed an' cried. 'Er poor daughter didn' seem too important to 'er anymore." Mrs. Lovett had placed her hands casually on her stomach, her gaze sat somewhere past booted feet on the floor. "She'd let 'er cry fer 'ours. But tha's not the worst of it." She finally had looked at him then, her dark orbs sparkling with what Sweeney regarded as complete remorse, revulsion, and fear.

The man swallowed and set his gin on the table before him. He didn't like where this story was going. The woman's tension was coming off of her in seismic waves, no matter how she tried to hide her mild discomfort. He licked his chapped lips and clasped his hands together in his lap.

"The Beadle Bamford had come callin' on 'er. 'E said that the Judge was all contrite. He'd blamed 'imself fer 'er sufferin'." She seemed to clutch her abdomen in fear. "The Beadle had come and whisked 'er 'way one night, said Turpin wanted to see 'er. O'course when she got there, the Judge was nowhere 'round and a huge ball was 'appenin'. Poor thing didn't know _anyone _there. She had gotten 'erself drunk, poor thing. Mind ya she was persuaded not t'go, but o'course she didn' listen. She thought she would be gettin' her 'usband back. But the Judge…wasn't as contrite as the Beadle made it seem…

The Judge 'ad taken 'er into a room and locked 'er in. 'Ad is way wit' 'er while everyone else laughed. They though' she 'as daft ya see. Not to know why the Judge 'ad called on 'er."Mrs. Lovett had glazed eyes now, the tears were slowly pooling in the bottom lid of her eyes. Her gaze had settled somewhere above his shoulder from where he sat on the settee.

"NOOOO! Didn't anyone, have mercy on her?" His scream of pure agony had caused the petite baker to jolt in her seat, a hand flying to her heart, her trance-like state disturbed. Her response was not at all what he was expecting.

"So it is you…" Her voice was a mere whisper, as if uttering a forbidden name. "Benjamin Barker?"

"Where is Lucy?" He'd completely ignored her inquiry, running a hand angrily through his ink colored untamed hair.

"She poisoned herself. She bought arsenic from the apothecary down on the corner. I tried so 'ard to stop 'er, but she'd locked the door on me. It ate away at 'er mind, the poor dear, until one day she'd lost it completely and left. I never saw 'er again. And the judge...he took Johanna. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" The baker was now starring dolefully at her flour coated hands, wringing her fingers together in a weary fashion, tears dripping down onto her hands like raindrops. "Benjamin, I'm sorry…"

"No, it's not Benjamin anymore. That man is dead. It's Todd, now. Sweeney Todd. And he will have his revenge."

Mrs. Lovett ostensibly had nothing to say. Until a moment later she came out with;

"I'll 'elp ya Mister. Todd. In any way I can. That bloody Judge deserves nothing more than a 'anging before 'is people. The blighter's entitled to showing 'is people what a 'orrid man 'e is."

Sweeney nodded curtly once, his eyes downcast. He didn't know exactly yet how he'd plan to get the judge, but in time, he knew that Judge Turpin would pay. Oh, his precious rubies would spill...

"Aw'right. Let's get ya upstairs, then," Mrs. Lovett wiped her eyes and made her way into the shop from the parlor. "Ya comin', love?" She'd stopped and asked.

"Of course." Though Sweeney knew he wasn't in the least prepared for what lie ahead.


	2. I'm Your Friend Too MrTodd

**Here is chapter two. Thanks to thelovelyflorencelovett for the review! I appreciate it! Again, remember, this is quite AU, but still goes along with the story line. **

**Enjoy! :D**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

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**Chapter 2 I'm Your Friend Too, Mr. Todd**

"Here it is, Mr. Todd. I did me best to keep this place tidy, ya know. But o'course I didn't really want to touch nothing. I know it's personal." Mrs. Lovett stood to his left with the door propped open, a hand rested on her hip. It was strange to think that after all the years of hoping that she'd have someone to talk to, a friend, a confidant, anyone really that now she actually had a chance at companionship again. Nellie smiled sadly as she watched Benjamin, now Sweeney; amble awkwardly around his less than cheery tonsorial parlor. It seemed to Mrs. Lovett that he hadn't a clue what to do now that he was home. Of course if she were him, locked away in a heck-like prison in Botany Bay, she would probably be the exact same way if not worse.

Sweeney had stopped, she'd noticed, in the middle of the room. His posture was somewhat slumped, his hands lay limply useless at his sides. In a way it had reminded Mrs. Lovett of herself once everyone that she'd come to know and love had seemingly disappeared, one by one. First it had been Albert. Next it had been Benjamin. And lastly Lucy and Johanna. In some infinitesimal way, Mrs. Lovett understood exactly how Sweeney felt. Nellie looked up to realize that he'd moved to the dresser on the opposite side of the room, he seemed to be transfixed by a picture of is Lucy and Johanna.

"She had...yellow hair..." Sweeney's voice was sterile and strained, as if he were trying desperately to bring something of importance to the forefront of his mind.

"Aye. She 'as beautiful lady." She found herself smiling softly from where she stood near the door. She ambled a few paces to stand beside him before the ancient dresser where he was delicately carressing the picture of his long lost wife. It depressed her to the highest degree to see him in such pain, but of course there wasn't much of anything she could do about it.

"And Johanna," he'd muttered to the framed memory in his gloved hands. It seemed as if he were chattering to himself instead of her. Though Nellie didn't mind, as long as someone else was with her in the empty house, she was more than content to respond to questions that weren't necessarliy directed toward her.

"Just like 'er mother," she agreed. And then looking around the barber shop she'd noticed the plank, the one that had been pried up by her to hide Sweeney's most prized (and rather expensive) possesstions. As she made her way to the uplifted board, snippets of that nights events flitted through her mind. She remembered the Judge, Beadle, and his constables storming into her shop one night after she'd closed prior to a dinner rush. There had been no pleasentries exchanged, at least not on Turpin's part. They'd just broke in, shoved her roughly aside when she'd begun to protest about their intrusion, and demanded the whereabouts of Johanna. Of course she hadn't wanted to utter a single syllable, though the Judge had the power to send her off to Bedlam in less than a blink of an eye. And she wasn't about to be shipped off there. Though she found herself saying;

_"Ya can't take 'er! She belongs 'ere! In 'er 'ome!" _

_"Come now, Mrs. Lovett. We all know that you can't possibly take care of a child on your own. What would the townspeople think?"_

_The Beadle who stood beside the Judge sniggered before dismissing his slimy self to assist the policeman. Nellie could hear them rummaging around not so nicely through her house. She normally would have felt embarrased to have people snooping through her home, her belongings, but this situation was totally different. _

_She had gritted her teeth, cheeks red and little hands clenched into fists at her sides. Of course she knew the Judge was right, as he most always was (except in some situations) she would be frowned upon. But she didn't care, and she told him as much. She knew Benjamin would return one day, or at least she'd had the unhindered hope he would, and the least she could do was look after the last of his family when she'd succeeded in losing one already. _

_"Ah, Madam, I can assure you that Mr. Barker will not be returning. Alive that is. And I don't believe you've quite learned your place in this community. Maybe someone should teach you a lesson..." He glanced behind her toward the Beadle and the contables who held a now crying Johanna. Mrs. Lovett lunged for her, trying to grab the infant from the grasps of the supposed justice men. Before she knew exactly what happened, she felt a searing pain in her head and side. When she reached up to feel the blood matting her tangled hair she realized that the men had clocked her with their batons. _

_Through the haze in her head she just heard Judge Turpin, "Take the child back to the house and get her situated. I have some unifinished...business here to attend to." That was when he smirked down unmercifully at Nellie. She saw no feeling in those dark eyes belonging to Talmidge Turpin, only one thing she couldn't exactly put a name on, and was sure she didn't want to._

_She pushed herself up quickly, dizzying herself at the motion, by the shuffling of boots she realized she and the Judge were the only ones left in her shop. She also knew if she didn't get herself out of there, she would definately get exactly what she knew was coming. Nellie began to back up as fast as her throbbing head would let her, getting shakily to her feet she turned to make her way to her room. That's when she'd felt the strong hand gripping her arm painfully._

_"Let me go!" She screamed, trying unsuccesfully to thrash from his grip. "Ah!" _

_"Ah, my dear, it would do you best not to struggle!" He came at her then, grabbing her and throwing her petite body to the ground. Reaching down he ripped her button down dress right down the middle. She cried at the top of her lungs, a caterwaul only a heartless man could ignore. "Scream all you want, madam, no one will hear you, Mrs. Lovett..."_

"Mrs. Lovett!" She'd been shaken from her trance by the impatient barber. "Woman can you hear me?"

Sweeney had come to stand before her, an expression more annoyed than concerned graced his chiseled face.

"What? M'sorry, love. I guess I'd just zoned out for a tick." She smiled brightly. To this he uncerimoniously rolled his eyes. She'd guessed he'd been trying to get through to her for quite some time now, he was clearly irritated. She flushed.

"What are you doing like that on the floor?" He wasn't looking at her, more starring behind her at a place over her head.

She looked down to realize she had squatted herself on the ground before the loose floorboard. She sighed and looked up at his impassive face. Nellie then proceeded to loosen the wood until it came up and she lay it down next to her. This seemed to get the barber's attention. He'd come to kneel before the hole in the floor, peering down in it.

"I saved these for you, when the Judge came for Johanna. He'd taken a few things wit' 'im tha' weren't 'is. Coulda' sold 'em, but I didn't. Albert wanted me to. I wouldn't let 'im near 'em."

He looked at her plainly which she took as some twisted form of thanks and watched as he'd opened the intricately designed oak case. Her mouth slowly opened in awe.

"Those is chased silver ain't they?"

There was short silence.

"Silver. Yes." He methodically flipped open the spotless barbering tool, turning it slowly in the light from the window. It glinted at which he smiled. "These are my friends. See how they glisten? See this one shine? How this one smiles in the light?"

She nodded deftly, entranced at how he could be so devoted to inanimate objects. Of course she knew that being locked up in Botany Bay could do wonders to a man, heck she saw the result of a once naive man being sent and returning, changed in more ways than one. But alas she thought the change necessary. It had given him a new perspective on life.

Sweeney had stood now, standing near the center of the room, the razor lifted up before him. He was still singing to it as if it could understand him. And then after the next line he sang, she found herself answering with her own melody.

"You there, my friend."

"I'm your friend too, Mr. Todd." Nellie had sung this in hopes to bring him back into the present, in hopes of him noticing her, realizing she was there and as in need of a friend as he. She'd been alone for 8 years now. She'd lost her husband first, then Benjamin, Lucy, and finally Johanna in the span of 7 years. She felt that he knew what that was like, probably even moreso.

"Come, let me hold you."

"If only you knew, Mr. Todd."

Sweeney had sung until he'd turned his razor once more, finding that was not the only one present in the room. Nellie could see her reflection in the clear surface.

"Leave me." He'd uttered the one thing she didn't want to hear. With a slow nod and dejected sigh she turned and made for the stairs.

"I'm your friend too, Mr. Todd." She whispered before disappearing from the shop. "I'm your friend too."


	3. A Proposition

**Here is chapter 3. This is a filler, containing important information. So, it's kind of not very eventful. Again, thanks to thelovelyflorencelovett for reviewing, and thanks to the viewers of this story. Not that any are needed, but if you have any requests or suggestions, I'd be glad to take them and incorperate them into this story. Anywho, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: No.**

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**_C_****_hapter 3:_**_ **A Proposition **_

A few days after Sweeney Todd's arrival, Mrs. Lovett had a proposition, though Mr. Todd as he always seemed to, found a way to stomp it into the ground.

"And may I ask, exactly where do you think I will get the _money _to afford such a feat as opening this, _tonsorial parlor_?" He glared seemingly uninterested at her, the small baker in is presence. Now, really, she'd known that he probably wouldn't take so well to the idea at first; the least she could do was try to persuade him. Besides, they both needed money to live off of, and if she remembered correctly he was great in the trade of barbering. And, it'd get her scheme well in motion.

"Oh, Mr. Todd, that's fine! I've got some savings stashed! We can use that to get your cream and whatnot!" He'd seemed unenthused about the opening of his shop. In fact he seemed indifferent as Mrs. Lovett had come to find he most always was to any particular event. Being the considerate woman she was, Nellie had brushed it off with a wave of her hand and a tilt of her head, red curls bobbing. She took a mental note, Sweeney Todd, was grumpy in the morning.

Later that day she'd interrupted him from his plotting to get to Judge Turpin, again.

"Mr. Todd! I've got it!" She hadn't knocked of course but since he'd moved in she really hadn't at all. He was probably tempted the next time she came in the door to shove her up against the wall with one of his razors to her throat. She cringed.

"Of course you do." When he talked to her, she realized he liked to use as few words possible. She liked that he'd let himself talk to her, she couldn't stand silence. He sighed, though this occurrence it seemed he was actually listening to the woman's seemingly listless rant. It was probably only because it held for him some benefit.

"O'course I don't visit any barber shop's Mr. T, but I know that London's still in search of a man who can really shave 'em clean." She had come to stand a few feet away beside him at the window, where he was pacing.

"Mmh."

"Yeah, and if anyone can do it, I know you can. Once you get your supplies and such, and we 'ang these flyers, there'll be plenty o' customers!" Nellie's voice raised a decibel with each word she uttered, but she couldn't help her excitement. If he were to open a business here, he was less likely pack up and abandon her. Though there was the chance that he could, cast aside her idea and leave by morning, all before she could even blink an eye. She didn't think he would, but there was always that lingering fear in the back of her mind that she'd someday soon be alone once more. The memories of her past would haunt her every waking hour. "So, what do ya say, Mr. T?"

"Sure, whatever you say," he grumbled, still not looking at her.

While sure she didn't mind that he outright refused to make eye contact with her for more than 5 seconds in a 60 minute time span, it did get kind of annoying. Ultimately she'd put up with it, batting her eyelashes and reply in an even cheerier voice that it was fine. It was fine that he chose not to give her the time of day unless of course it was the time the Judge should show up for his "revenge". Ah, that was it! This would get him to give at her at least a scrap of his attention.

"And, love, m'sure once you get popular 'ere that bloody ole Judge will come 'round? You can get your revenge?"

Sweeney did glance at her then, noticing the wicked grin on her face. Upon the verbalizing of the words "Judge" and "revenge" in the same sentence, he was instantly alert, as she knew he would be. The man grinned darkly at her. Oh, how it tickled her to see that he was pleased. She certainly wouldn't tell him that, though. Just like her, Sweeney deserved a little happiness in the dark hole he called life, and if she were able to give that to him, she would.

"You're a bloody wonder Mrs. Lovett. Eminently practical and yet appropriate as always." His head turned to regard the commoners who seemed to be in an endless bustle down the dirtied streets, and to this she groaned inwardly. Bleeding difficult this man was. "And of course, with the money we bring in, we can probably get something more suitable to fill your…pies with." She noticed he acknowledged her briefly with a flick of his eyes before he was back to his view again. Well, at least he considered her rather than disregarding her as a part of his set of tools, an object only to be used when needed.

"Ah, righ' you are, dear. We'd be the respectable barber and baker we would." She nodded before turning to pace as he did each night instead of sleep. Not that she would lie awake until he began to pace, using that as a soothing lullaby, an assurance she wasn't alone anymore. "And when we 'ave quite a lot saved we can pro'bly get this place spruced up a bit. Maybe a good paint job and some curtains…"

"No, no curtains." He glared heavily at her, causing her to stop her thoughtful tread. She looked at him then, a hint of fear swimming in her dark eyes before he turned once more. Mrs. Lovett didn't know what had made him so edgy when she'd mentioned the home accessories. She shrugged, making a mental note to ask him later about his sudden dislike of curtains.

"Aw'right then. No curtains," she whispered.

"That'll be all, Mrs. Lovett."

As she did most days, the woman took that as a notion to leave, and quickly. Sweeney reached down to his belt holster and removed a razor, unsheathing it methodically. She figured he was going to have one of his private conversations with his precious barbering tools. Her eyes rolled as she retreated down the stairs. She would never quite understand how he would prefer talking to one of those over her. Just as the door shut finally, she'd heard him utter;

"Ah, my friend, we soon shall work again. The Judge will not leave this place until his rubies have been spilled." He smirked at his companion. "Yes, we shall have revenge…"

And if Eleanor Lovett knew one thing, it was this; when Benjamin made promises, he kept them no matter what. And if Sweeney was anything like his former self, than he would keep his promise too, regardless of the cost. Judge Turpin would cease to exist. Sweeney Todd would bloody see to that. Indubitably.


End file.
